


Now or Never

by NamelesslyNightlock



Series: Going Down Swinging [102]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, BAMF Loki (Marvel), Battle, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Difficult Decisions, Established Relationship, Feels, Hopeful Ending, Kissing, Knights - Freeform, Loki (Marvel) Feels, M/M, Protective Loki (Marvel), Swords, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Ultimatums, Violence, Worried Loki (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-27 19:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30127629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NamelesslyNightlock/pseuds/NamelesslyNightlock
Summary: Standing above the field of battle, Loki cannot breathe– because he hasn’t seen Anthony since the cavalry first charged, and the only thing he knows for sure is that they’relosing.
Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark
Series: Going Down Swinging [102]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1330490
Comments: 9
Kudos: 143





	Now or Never

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you **Rabentochter** for the help with this one!  
>   
>  **Prompt** — _“Promise me you’ll come back.”_

Loki couldn’t breathe.

It wasn’t that he was exhausted, that he’d had barely any sleep and used far too much energy. It wasn’t the screams in the air, nor the scent of blood on the wind. It wasn’t even the army stretched out on the other side of the field, their ranks so swollen that even now after the battle had started they still flooded the entire horizon.

No.

Loki couldn’t breathe because he hadn’t seen Anthony since the cavalry had charged, and the only thing he knew for sure was that they were going to _lose._

It was an outcome that they’d all predicted, the truth they’d all known in the back of their harried minds. They hadn’t always been entirely dispirited, however, for they’d had negotiations with the Prince of their neighbouring kingdom only the night before, and Loki had _hoped_ that they would be able to reach a peaceful agreement. But Thor hadn’t been able to accept the given terms of surrender– not because they weren’t _fair_ , but because they very clearly _would_ be surrendering.

Because the opposing force was several thousand men stronger than theirs– which was a fact that _should_ have caused Thor to halt.

Instead, Thor had insulted the prince and stated that they wouldn’t go down without a fight, and the following morn at the rising of the sun the two armies were charging across the field at each other, the war cries on their lips melting to screams the very moment that they met.

Loki saw it all happen, for as a mage, he was standing upon the small ridge with the archers, at the rear of the army. But Anthony was cavalry, which meant that _he_ was right on the front line.

Loki _hated_ it. He hated that they couldn’t fight side by side, he hated that he couldn’t protect Anthony in every possible way.

He hated that he hadn’t been able to convince Anthony to _go._

“We could just _leave,”_ Loki had said in the safety of darkness, gripping Anthony’s wrists with a kind of desperation he didn’t often allow himself to display. “Run away, just you and me. Go somewhere we can be together without the world trying to tear us apart.”

“They’ll chase us,” Anthony replied, shaking his head with a sigh. “We’d be hung for treason, and you know it. Even though you’re a prince, that’s more than even you could get away with.”

“But they won’t survive the morning,” Loki said, voice cracking, grip tightening, a not so irrational fear that Anthony was about to be ripped from him forever turning his veins to ice. “There won’t be anyone coming after us, there won’t be anyone _left.”_

“But maybe there will be, if we’re there to help.” Anthony’s voice was earnest, his eyes containing a hopeful gleam that Loki _usually_ found endearing. “If _you’re_ there to help. I’m only one man, I can’t make much of a difference– but _your_ skill with seiðr, that could win the war.”

Loki shook his head. “I don’t care about winning—”

“Loki, no, don’t say that—”

“Why not?” Loki snapped. “Thor doesn’t care either, he can’t. If he _cared,_ he would have _listened_ to me when I said we needed to take what they were offering.”

“He should have,” Anthony agreed, and Loki appreciated that the words didn’t hold a single touch of hesitation. “But his mistake doesn’t mean that we should throw the rest of the kingdom under the carriage. If we can make even the slightest difference, if we can save even just the one life… then surely we have a duty to do so?”

Loki wanted to continue arguing– he’d wanted to say that no one person, that no _kingdom_ mattered to him as much as Anthony did. That the only life Loki cared about saving was _his._

But… he knew Anthony well, and he recognised the stubborn tone. Anthony was never going to shift on this– he would sooner let Loki walk away by himself than leave now. Continuing to argue would only drive a wedge between them—

And, when there was the strong possibility that this night could be their last? That was the very last thing that Loki wanted to do.

So he sighed, and stepped forward instead, drawing Anthony into his arms and resting their heads together, breathing in the metallic scent that always managed to cling to Anthony’s hair, even amongst the stench of an advancing army.

“Hey,” Anthony said, his own arms wrapping tightly around Loki’s waist as he buried into Loki’s chest. “We’ll get through this, we’ll be all right.”

“Just, promise that you’ll come back,” Loki begged. “Promise that you’ll come back to me.”

Anthony didn’t reply, other than to clutch Loki even tighter. Loki did the same, knowing that what he had asked was a promise Anthony couldn’t truly make.

They stayed together for the rest of the night, throwing decorum out of the window as they curled up in Loki’s tent. Their relationship wasn’t known beyond themselves and Thor – and they had only informed the crown prince as an insurance should anyone else discover their affections for one another. The kind of love they shared was not looked kindly upon, but… it remained the most perfect thing that Loki had ever known—

And he wasn’t about to let go of it, not for Thor, not for an asinine _war._

So as Anthony drifted off in his arms, his lips curled into a smile against the bare skin of Loki’s shoulder, Loki ran his hands over his lover’s naked body and whispered words of power. He imbued every inch of skin with his seiðr, leaving as little to chance as was possible. And Loki did not think to spare himself, nor did he do anything half-way. He layered spell after spell into Anthony’s flesh, drew runes of power with the tip of his finger, flooded Anthony’s body with every scrap of energy he possessed.

And he knew that he should have asked for Anthony’s consent, gained permission for spells of such an intimate nature. But… he knew what Anthony would have said. Knew that his partner would have told him to keep his energy for himself, that he would need it for the coming battle– that he should give himself just as many if not _more_ protections than Anthony.

But Loki would not have it. If he lived, but Anthony did not… well, the thought did not even bear the thinking.

And when they woke in the hours before dawn, when they pressed light kisses to lips and skin and lingered together for longer than they should have risked, Loki didn’t say a thing about what he’d done.

He just held Anthony close, kissed his lips, and gave him one last vow.

“I love you,” Loki swore—

“I love you too.”

Their lips pressed together, and they kissed with all the passion they had– but Loki did not _want_ to say goodbye, he didn’t think that he would be able to bear it. And from the way Anthony clutched at him, Loki thought it likely that he felt the same—

So he tore himself from Anthony’s arms and left his tent without a backward glance, knowing that if he lingered any longer then he would not be able to leave at all.

Loki didn’t eat breakfast. Instead, he went first to where the horses were penned in order to place a few more spells, and then sought out the generals, and made some arrangements. Because he might not have been able to pull Anthony away entirely, but he _did_ at least manage to get him pulled from the very _first_ charge. He didn’t have as much power as Thor, but he tugged on enough strings to make it so that Anthony would be ordered to the second line rather than the initial charge– a position that would place him in at least a little less danger.

And oh, Loki knew that it was blatant nepotism, he knew that if – _when_ – Anthony realised what had happened, he wouldn’t be best pleased.

But Loki didn’t care. He didn’t care about the battle, about his kingdom, not when those things were lost already.

He just—

He just needed Anthony to be safe.

That was all.

And as Thor called for the advance, as his voice echoed over the field in a hoarse and angry cry—

As the thunder of hooves and thousands of feet pounded on the inside of Loki’s skull—

As the air rang with the clash of swords and the screams of dying horses—

Loki’s heart stopped beating, and everything ceased to matter.

Everything. Save for _him._

Loki’s feet were moving before he realised they were doing so, carrying him forward and down from that ridge. His sword was in his hand but his eyes were focused _onward,_ barely a thought to right or wrong or _how_ remaining in his mind.

The first blade glanced off his armour, skating along the plate protecting his arm. The next he was ready for, parrying it with a flick and shout before slamming forward with his all his weight, slicing straight through the man who had deemed him an easy target.

After that, there was another, and another– his rapier was gleaming red in seconds, slashing through air and flesh in equal measure. Even though the fight had only just begun, the bodies already lay so thickly on the ground that it was difficult not stepping on them, and Loki rolled his ankle on the remains of someone’s leg as he dodged a vicious attack. But there was no time for pause– he kept on fighting, pushing through the pain and growing exhaustion, trying not to use his seiðr save for when he absolutely had to in an effort to conserve what little energy he had left.

He fought, he _fought—_

Through the torrents of blood and echoes of death, through the stench and the stickiness and the _pain—_

There was only one thought left in his mind. There was only one purpose, one goal, one _emotion_ which kept him on his feet– not his love for his kingdom, but that which he felt for _Anthony._

A flash of silver in the corner of his eye was his only warning before a blade almost cleaved his neck in two, his rapier coming up only just in time. Loki snarled, his teeth bared to the metallic taste of the battle, the other man’s eyes white behind his helmet as Loki’s sword pulled from his gut. Just in time he spun for the next, sidestepping a spear and batting it away before ducking down to slash at vulnerable legs.

The ground was wet with blood, thick under his feet, and he stumbled on his aching ankle as he came back upright. A lucky horseman still with his steed had joined Loki’s corner of the field, rusty legs dancing through the corpses as the rider hacked at anyone in his path.

Loki braced himself, drawing a deep breath. With his seiðr, taking the man from the horse would be easy– but he didn’t want to waste energy he might need when he found Anthony. He would have to do this the hard way.

The horseman’s armour was so caked with mud it was hard to tell what shape it once might have been, let alone the crest that he might once have borne. But as the soldier raised his sword, Loki thought it looked familiar—

But the metal still rang the same as any other when Loki’s rapier came up to meet it.

Loki’s arms ached, but he grit his teeth as he pushed back. In that moment, this single horseman symbolised everything that had gone wrong, an insurmountable obstacle that stood between he and Anthony. Just like Thor, just like the scorn, just like this useless, _wasteful war—_

But as he leaned closer, he thought he could sense something of his own magic on the horse before him. That should have been impossible, the only horse that he had placed spells on was—

Well—

 _“Anthony?”_ Loki looked up from where he had been concentrating on their swords, on their _fight,_ and stared into the horseman’s familiar wide eyes.

“ _Loki?”_ Anthony gasped, his face entirely unrecognisable underneath a layer of blood and gore. “Holy shit—”

Whatever Anthony was about to say was cut off as a pair of soldiers came at them, Anthony and Jarvis making a clear target above the ranks of injured infantry.

Two swords sparked against Jarvis’ caparison and the horse reared, screaming, but the spells held– and he remained unharmed as his hooves sunk back into the muddy ground. But Anthony was not so lucky, slipping from the bloody saddle and landing with a heavy thud.

Loki dispatched the soldiers as quickly as he could and hurried forward, knowing that a man on the ground in such a cramped field was as likely to drown in the mud as he was to be stabbed– and he threw out a wall of seiðr, finally deigning to use it now that he had found the one he most wanted to protect. The green energy formed something of a bubble, giving them a moment of respite, and Loki was able to help Anthony off the ground.

“What are you doing here?” Anthony immediately asked– good, too, since the urgency of their current situation didn’t leave much room for small talk. “You’re meant to be—”

“I’m meant to be here,” Loki cut in. “With you. Unless you’ve reconsidered, and you would like to go somewhere else?”

The question came out a little harsher than he meant it, but oh did he _mean_ it. It was only as the words fell from his lips that Loki realised the truth– and Anthony did, as well.

“You came charging in to battle… to ask me to go?” Anthony asked. His eyes darted behind and around Loki with a certain sense of urgency– at the battle that still raged all around them, the battle which for all intents and purposes had only just _begun._ They had yet to see whether Loki was correct, or whether Thor’s tactics would prevail– or whether all of their countrymen, their friends, would fall on the field.

Loki knew that Anthony believed it his duty to fall with them. To _fight_ with them, right to the very end. Loki knew that he, as their prince, should see it just the same way, that he should not turn tail and _run—_

But this was a senseless war. And rather than lose themselves fighting for what was already lost… Loki wanted to _live._

“Please,” Loki said. Begged. “ _Please.”_

He reached out with his hand, pleading for Anthony to take it. This was their one chance, their _last chance,_ to get away and live—to _run_ from this fight and never look back. Loki could hold the shield for a little while and Jarvis was still all right, but they would have to go now.

Now, or never.

Anthony’s eyes were pained, aching, broken. He looked like he was being torn in two, his lips a jagged line of anguish beneath the blood of a hundred men, beneath the weight of all of those he could not ever save. He held Loki’s gaze for a moment– a moment which stretched to a year, a decade, a century. But then, expression clearing, Anthony reached forward to take Loki’s hand—

And finally, despite the uncertainty, despite the battle and despite the pain—

Finally, Loki could breathe.


End file.
